Art, ascension, Connection, God, life, love, Messages, MOVEMENT, One, Poetry, relationships, Revolution, Source, Spirit



I sit here in silence.
Yet can there be silence.
As no sound.
Clothes against bare skin.
Soft, smooth, held free.
Air breathes along the palm of my mind.
Clear, cleanse, crystals, close.
Mother earth pulsating.
Brown sound upon the wings of our hearts.
Our feet melt, merge into her skin.
Father Sky drops blue, pink in an ocean of freeze.
Golden light abreast the sun.
Glitters upon ones knees.
Water washes through.
A trickle in the glass of time.
Fire rides sensualy through our being.
Blue power, strength o mine.
Spirits of the trees.
Insects are the keys.
Ancestors standing strong.
Never alone.
Nothing nor no-one to long.
Old stories die hard.
Source sings our souls song.

Written by Helen Rebecca Hart.

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